


Red I love you and the world

by ShipperTrash140109



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sick Character, Suicidal Thoughts, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 15:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperTrash140109/pseuds/ShipperTrash140109
Summary: Red, I love you and the worldHe had a funny way with love, in that it almost always turned to ash right in front of him. But not this time- this time his love- the Macguire boy- never left him alone, never let up, never flickered or faltered. It was the kind of love that made him irritated and craving a simpler time but so fulfilled it made him choke up just thinking about it. It was a love that had him singing to himself on long rides, telling his poor horse stories about what he’d done, why he loved him so much, how much he hated missing the other man so much. It was a love almost as smothering as the heat that clung to that thick red dirt. And much like the dirt, he never really could scrub it off.





	Red I love you and the world

**Author's Note:**

> whaddup here's another sad thing, real sorry bout that but i'm working on like 2-3 smut fics atm so i swear it'll get better.
> 
> as always i really appreciate comments and encourage you to please leave some

_I'm going to where the sun burns_  
_And the heat stays in command_  
_Come and lay by my side_  
_Right here_

It seemed the dust grew redder the more they moved. It had gone a blank sheet of white snow and black dirt that never grew dry, to the brown mud caking the Heartlands, and now Rhodes, dust red and choking to match the stifling heat. Even at night the heat didn’t ebb, didn’t die down and call it a day until the sun rose. It seeped out of the dirt, red and angry and sticking all over.

His hands were almost permanently caked with the dust, left bright crimson tracks over his lover’s body that never really scrubbed off, dust like that had a habit of staying forever. He’d complain and gripe about the grit itching at his skin. But he had not the patience or staying power required to resist his partner on those late afternoons on that quiet little hill not far from Clemens Point, hidden in the shade like it could hold off the heat and hands touching between them. They lay in their own perfect little harmony, red dirt seeping into their clothes and turning brown hair maroon and orange hair brick red.

_Red, I love you and the world_

He had a funny way with love, in that it almost always turned to ash right in front of him. But not this time- this time his love- the Macguire boy- never left him alone, never let up, never flickered or faltered. It was the kind of love that made him irritated and craving a simpler time but so fulfilled it made him choke up just thinking about it. It was a love that had him singing to himself on long rides, telling his poor horse stories about what he’d done, why he loved him so much, how much he hated missing the other man so much. It was a love almost as smothering as the heat that clung to that thick red dirt. And much like the dirt, he never really could scrub it off.

_It seemed to make sense_  
_When Brother Santo said_  
_One more run be enough_  
_Going to be enough_

They’d spoken about it, late at night when the air is thick and sweat settles in a thin layer over their skin, the air in their tent stiflingly hot from the efforts of their previous activities. They’d talk about getting out, about cutting and running when their charismatic leader was sounding more mad than usual. Sean would talk about Ireland, about the green hills and cool air and his beloved da that made the older man grimace and grit his teeth. It was always one more, one more big score and then they were free, then they were out. For them in the embrace of their tent it was always one more, one more fuck up and they’d cut their losses and vanish. They were always convinced when they were told this was the last, this was the last job before they were done, and relieved smiles would be shared, followed by a long, slow mapping out of each other’s bodies if it went well, convinced they were finally free. If it hadn’t gone well, as it so often didn’t, it would be no more than a harsh clash of firm flesh and white knuckle holds on whatever they could get their hands on.

_Money for everything_  
_Silver toed boots and kerosene_  
_Come and lay by my side_  
_Right here_

It’s said that money cannot buy happiness, but they’d found it could buy a hotel room for a night where the walls are thick and doors locked, hiding them away, leaving them in their own kind of paradise until the sun came up. In there, where the mattress is soft on aging bones and scarred skin, they’re as shameless as the red dirt outside looking like a sea of blood winding through the buildings of Rhodes.

He stares at the silver toes on his leaders boots as he’s ordered to join his love at the fields of red stained tobacco. To further embed themselves in the quarrel that even a fool can see is a waste of manpower. The accent tinged voice of his red-haired love cocoons him where he sits, surrounded by moonshine that burns more than the strongest of acids. He thinks of his boys face when he once tried it, rain making the ground spongy underfoot and his hair hanging around his face, rain put him in a terrible mood, worse than when he’d find red dust all over his ‘fine attire.’

Their eyes meet when they’re alone in the barn, formerly watching the shadows creeping underneath the door get ever longer. He’s still so young, his pale skin still so soft, so bright like those blue eyes permanently tinged with mischief. Neither say anything, silently letting their gaze track over the other, pinkies touching where their hands are braced against the wooden planks between them. They wouldn’t forget each other if this went wrong, as it so often did.

_Red, I love you and the world_  
  
He looked like a deity, wild and untamed and glowing with the sea of wildfire behind him, the god of flames, controller of the choking red dust that flew up with the stomp of boots and clung to each shred of ash that flew up into the void of night. It made his veins fill with a shocking tingle of something mighty powerful. They ride off into the trees, fire hot on their backs and the roar of the fields succumbing to the force of nature filling their ears. Next to him the brunet hears a wild cackle, sees skin bright red even through the haze of night and the deadly smirk that had brought the tough gunslinger to his knees many a time before.

They find each other that night, canvas is dropped and they’re as hidden as they can be. When the younger red head is laid down and made to believe in whatever god hides in the clouds. When his pale skin grows hot and slick, the man rolling his hips in long slow circles likes to think the heat was from the flames themselves.

_Well the buzzing, the stink_  
_And the choking_  
_I can't stay no more_  
_Come and lay by my side_  
_Right here_

He should’ve known it was a mistake to follow a snake in a white hat into a job, worse to let Sean- his Sean, his love- join them in their green mile, a green mile covered in red dirt. The smell of horse waste burns his nose, and the flat buzz of their ‘leader’s’ voice filling his ears. A tendril of unease had curled around his heart and squeezed. When his love turned, mouth curled up to debunk his cowboys’ nerves, Arthur had for a moment saw the explosion of red and thought a boot had kicked up the mess of dust. It was only when the hollow thump of a body with half a head hit the floor did he realise he was wrong.

He couldn’t tell what was blood and what was dirt, what was clogging his lungs so much that he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take his eyes off where his love had just turned to ash in front of him. The bullets flying around him like a cyclone never hit their mark, never do their job and leave Arthur dead next to the love taken from him.

The brunet leaves the town the moment the shootings finished. He can feel his throat burn like he’s just thrown back some moonshine as he hauls the body over his shoulder, dust flying off him as the torso hits his shoulder. He can feel the clothing grow warm and wet and he knows he’ll burn the coat later, burn and think back to the night in the field.

His cot feels cold and disgustingly clean, and more than ever he wished he could be smothered by his red love.

_Red, I need you and the world_

The red dust that follows him feels like hot coals against his skin, makes his head spin and eyes burn, drives him to scrub his skin raw to try and get rid of it all. After a while he wonders whether it was ever really there or if he’s going wrong in the brain. He hadn’t realised how much he needed his red love, how much he could miss someone. Everything around him looked so foreign, he wasn’t ready- neither of them had been.

_When I see you behind the glass_  
_I forget that I'm in the cage_  
_They bring me to Sunday mass_  
_But it never wiped the rage_

The days pass on, the red dust is left forgotten as the ever-thinning gang seeks refuge in the mountains, the hot stickiness of the air replaced by a cold snap that makes Arthur constantly feel frozen. He feels trapped inside his own body, a cell that’s starting to rust and turn to ash, the smiling face behind the glass of a photo frame urges him to keep on, to keep on until the light of the unknown swallows him up and his joints turn to mush and his lungs crumble, until his cell turns to ruddy dust around him. It’s all he has left, the face behind the glass, with a smile he’d thought he’d be able to wake up to forever.

When he sees mother Calderón at the train station, he talks, he tells of all his fears, how his time is nigh on done and he feels torn between the grave and the world as it is. He misses his red, he tells her as such and she talks to him like there’s an after death, like somewhere up there his red is waiting for him. His eyes sting and his lungs ache and he hopes she’s right, it could be the only thing he’s got going for him.

He hates this cage- hates how every morning he wakes up, body on fire and gasping for breath and for a moment he thinks this is it- he’s finally leaving this damned world, but then he always gets up, like a sick joke, leaving a doomed man hanging onto life and begging for reprieve without ever giving it to him. He hates it he hates it he hates it.

_Seven months gone and seven years to go_  
_Red, I can't stay no more_  
_Come and lay by my side_  
_Right here_

The snake with the white hat is the worst kind of coward- the one that’s going to win because they believe they’re winning. Arthur cares for the sake of dignity- the dregs that tell him not to go down easy, to fight like his red would’ve, the red that he’s been without for far too long. Keep fighting, keep fighting until anger consumes the rat like decay has consumed Arthur’s own insides, fight until there’s no standing back up, until he’s kicking at the doors of the beyond.

He can feel that it’s over, whether it’s the death shudders of his lungs, or the gun in the coward’s hand that dictates when it doesn’t matter, he can’t go on, can feel his strength dripping from his veins and out the tips of his fingers until all he can do is lay there. He can hear the expensive twinkling of expensive shoes and see the face of betrayal over him. His ears are roaring, the sounds of his body as it gives its final death rattles like a deer in the jaws of an alligator trying to struggle free even though it knows it over. Creatures don’t survive this.

He can’t stay, can’t try and save everyone anymore, can’t live the life he and Sean had once promised each other. It was his time.

The shouting dies off, the rattle of spurs suddenly gone, and he’s left laying there, not even the strength to cough away the blood sitting in his throat. Not here, not here. He drags himself across the ground, blood spilling from between his lips as he groans and wheezes, his arms feeling full of lead as he clambers through the dirt. As he rolls onto his back on the lip of the cliff, falling limp and gasping for air he has no use for, he let’s himself smile, a feeling that’s foreign and unknown but he made it, he won.

The sun rises slow over the mountains, painting the valley hundreds of shades of yellow and orange, he can feel him in the colours, Calderón had been right. There he is, waiting to smother Arthur just like he used to.

Up here, no red dirt can touch them.

 _Red, I love you and the world_  
_Red, I need you and the world_

**Author's Note:**

> remember to leave kudos and comments! both are greatly appreciated!


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